Ice Cream Social
by XeroRyder
Summary: It makes sense that my sister and I would be more than a little curious about that blonde's recent visit, a criminal mastermind's intentions, and the destroyed mech that showed up on the news the other day. But when the only clues you can get come from Neo, you can't exactly take everything at face value. [Militia's POV, post-Vol 2 Ch 4, may be contradicted by later episodes]


**Let's see, how many years has it been since I last did something on this site? Maybe three? Jeez. D,:**

**Well, it's been awhile, so I decided I'd come back with something new. Particularly, something RWBY-related, now that I'm into this fandom. I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one who watched Chapter 4 of Volume 2 and said, "Wow, that Neo character sure is cool." She's adorably evil! Y'know, just like Meta Knight. Except he's not evil. :|**

**So I chose to take two of my other favorite side characters, the Malachite twins (whom I have tried to write for as well; maybe you'll see those too if I ever finish them), and have her mess with them in the middle of Junior's club. Huzzah! As a forewarning, there's a very good chance that this will be shot out of the canon *ba dum tsss* as early as the time the next episode rolls around. Everything I've written in here is merely speculation based on what I've seen of their characters so far, with a little personal flair thrown in for good measure. ;)**

**Enjoy! (I do not own RWBY or its characters. They are property of Monty Oum anod the respective employees at RoosterTeeth.)**

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_Ice Cream Social_

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"Hey Militia, have I ever asked you if you believe in miracles?"

My attention was diverted from the multitude of dancers on the floor below me as I looked up at my twin, who stood a few stairs higher than me. "I can't say you have, Melanie," I answered honestly. There was a small sparkle in the pair of green eyes that were identical to my own. "And I can't say I do. Where are you going with this?"

She let slip a tiny smirk. I must have caught a drift of some sort with my last question. Of course, living with someone your whole life makes it pretty easy to do things like that. "I've never been much of a believer myself," she said. Her head turned and she continued to overlook the lights of the club, prompting me to do the same. "But you know, when that 'Blondie' chick left here the other day without causing any property damage, I think it strengthened my faith a little."

Despite the tinge of bitterness that laced her voice when she spoke the nickname Junior had given to our "customer," I couldn't help but find the comment amusing. Just because I don't smile on the job doesn't mean I like to play the emotionless bodyguard all the time, after all. Granted, I don't usually smile anyway, but I did offer a casual, good-natured shrug. "I can understand that." Property damage was a light way of putting what she caused earlier this year. It was a surprise that the DJ would even get behind the turntables anymore after he took her boot to his face (although my sister's response to that was to tell him to man up because he didn't know what a real kick in the head felt like). So when she showed up again a few days ago, we had a reason or two to be concerned for the club's safety. But surprisingly, history did not repeat itself. Though from what we heard, things did play out kind of similarly to last time. She was apparently looking for information on a shady person once more. Wasn't the first time someone came to Junior for it, but it was the first time someone made it past us when they tried a little too hard to get it.

I could hear Melanie's fingers drumming on the railing next to me, her polished nails making rhythmic clicks against the hard surface. "Guess Bimbo Bitch isn't about crashing the party all the time, huh?" It was more of a comment than an inquiry, though that didn't stop me from picking up on what she was saying (or from finding a great deal of satisfaction in her appropriate nickname). It was a given that she hadn't thought about this as much as I had, but when it came down to it we were both trying to figure out this girl's intentions.

"That wouldn't be fair to say, would it?" Another example of statement over question. Twins really are too similar. I leaned lightly on the edge of the metallic black staircase, taking care to prevent my claws from harming the expensive finish. "I think she brought up Roman Torchwick while they were talking. Something about why he hired some of the club staff a few months ago."

"I think she wants to know what the guy's planning. In that case, it would do her good to mind her own business." A beat passed before she added, "Course we would've picked up a lot more details if Blue Boy hadn't been following us around the whole time." Yes, the partner she had brought with her did seem to lean more toward the persistent side. Whether it was due to hormones or the intention of purposefully separating us from our employer, I hadn't yet figured out.

Melanie scoffed, clearly annoyed at the boy's admittedly mild advances. I glanced over to see a stern look complemented by crossed arms, which was basically her signature body language in almost all given situations. "If the slut wants to bring her next meal out to the club for a dance, that's her deal, but she's gotta learn to put him on a leash. We could've missed something important while he was hounding us." I had to fight down the oddly strong urge to point out her hypocrisy in calling Blondie a slut considering the clothes we were wearing, but as was often the case, I had to agree with my sister on the second point. There must have been some connection between them being here and the news reports released the following day, in which they were clearly present...

"And I'm pretty sure those same two kids were chasing the Paladin that showed up on the news the next morning."

People usually get pretty weirded out by the "mental link" we share. That's just because they don't understand how much more convenient it makes conversation. "They obviously weren't shy in front of the highway cameras," I recalled. "Blue didn't do a very good job of staying low on top of the robot, and anyone could recognize that tacky bike from a mile away."

"Right?" Melanie concurred, expressing her disapproval by flipping her hair. "I mean really, who even likes yellow?"

A sudden series of sharp noises blared over the sound system, sounding a bit like a power drill repeatedly slamming into a kick drum. Our heads immediately snapped to the DJ, who visibly jumped in alarm and frantically readjusted the needles on his records. At this, my eyes rolled in sync with my sister's. I swear, I don't know why Junior still bothers to hold onto some of those old defective discs...

"Idiot," Melanie hissed, massaging the area around her ear. I was less fazed by this, ironically considering she was the one who had mastered the ability to tune out unwanted noises (a category she often filed Junior's voice under).

"I think the thing that has me a little more curious than what Junior's best customers were doing there is what the Paladin was doing there," I said, getting the train of thought back on track from where it was formerly derailed. "That can't be good for public security."

My sister laughed, crossing her arms again. "Yeah, I knew that would happen from the moment I saw it," she said smugly. "People were scared shirtless by that, the easily terrified sheep they are." "Terrified sheep?" That's a new one. She must be getting her philosophies on life from that band she's been listening to lately... what was the name again? Nibbana or something?

"They'll get to thinking Ironwood's new toys are on the fritz before they're even on the market. Or his men are, for that matter."

"That was a pretty smart move. But anyone who knows anything knows the Fang was behind it."

Her tone fell slightly, because what she was saying was true. An undiscerning eye may not have noticed it, but when the charred and crumpled remains of the mech had been shown strewn about on a lower street near the end of the report, I was just barely able to make out what looked like a White Fang insignia on what probably used to be its shoulder. So I had some cause to believe they had a hand in the incident, and from the looks of it those were some big five fingers. Why the news station didn't pursue or even bring up this detail was a mystery I couldn't solve. Was Lavender's team really that dense?

I sighed, surprising myself with just how tired I sounded. "If I could deny that, I would," I mumbled vaguely. To tell the truth, I was never fond of the way many humans looked down on Faunus. The White Fang I was more familiar with was the one made up of honest people who just wanted a little respect here and there. Suffice it to say that I haven't exactly been pleased with their recent developments. Oh, but _no,_ I'm the bodyguard for a borderline criminal who runs one of the most popular underground nightclubs in Vale, I'm not supposed to be bothered by shit like that. Well, life's tough. I'm no stranger to that old saying.

Melanie's usual confident expression faltered. "So would I," she said softly. It was clear that she shared my sentiment of not wanting to dwell on this stuff for too long. "The new Fang haven't exactly been the most restrained crooks out there, but this is pushing it." She spoke hastily, obviously wanting to change the subject, but I still picked up on the very tiny wince she had when she called them "crooks." "They couldn't wreck this much shit if they tried."

"Because they have the bodies, but not the tools," I continued. Believing I had found what she was getting at, I expanded further. "They must have gotten a new outside supplier."

My sister nodded. "Yeah. Someone who can get around, knows his way with things. Someone like..."

"Torchwick," we concluded in unison.

"Good, so our twin telepathy puts us on the same track once again," Melanie joked in spite of herself, a small smile playing at her features. I might have rolled my eyes if I were a little less focused on figuring this out.

"I had the feeling that guy buying out Junior's boys was a ruse," I said thoughtfully. I scraped my claw blades together in an absent way, a habit I often exhibited when I was mulling something over. "He has his own fleet of Bullheads, for Dust's sake."

"And there's no pretending he wasn't the one behind all the recent Dust robberies," Melanie chimed in. "So yeah, we know the guy's no joke. But where did that Paladin come from?" She put a finger on her chin in an odd blend of half-mocking, half-sincerity. "I got the impression that he preferred stealing just the raw materials."

"His new employer must be willing to exhaust a lot of resources on him. Looks like he was demoted to the middleman here." I huffed in displeasure. So there was a chance that what we had been told only a little while ago was true. Torchwick was now in with the White Fang, and he was hooking them up with the big guns that someone else passed down to him. Our ability to put two and two together didn't always yield the most comforting conclusions. "If only our friend was willing to tell us a little more on her last visit here."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Melanie scoffed, tossing her head back in frustration. Her hair whipped violently, which was thankfully a much safer way for her to blow off steam than what she usually did. "It's harder to get her to talk than an informant. And we should know since we work for one!"

"Funny how that works," I stated dryly. An uncomfortable silence passed between us, but it wasn't made that way due to awkwardness. Rather, we wanted answers, but none seemed to be turning up. It was all we could do to stand there, overlook the flashy lights and people as they glittered across the dance floor, and think things over. The only sound my ears registered was the pumping dance music, but despite the high volume and in-your-face nature of the song, it sounded distant as my mind was focused elsewhere.

"Little cheat," I vaguely heard my sister mutter, though I didn't find the need to glance over at her. She had this distracted quality about her voice which robbed it of the venom it usually carried when spouting insults. "We tried to be pals, and all we asked for was a flashlight so we wouldn't have to take so many stabs in the dark." Ooh, we're getting into metaphors now. She's kinda pissed. "Her work can't be _that_ confidential..."

There's this one little saying in particular that will make you want to kick yourself in whatever genitalia you may have whenever it applies to your life. It goes a little something like: "Speak of the devil and he shall appear." Because when my eyes - which were probably glazed over by that time - happened to pass by the bar, I caught sight of a multicolored, parasol-toting, very familiar-looking girl take her seat at one of the stools. And I was very tempted to redden my heels just a little bit more.

Instead, I opted for the much more reasonable solution. I looked up again at Melanie with what was probably a nonchalant expression, but inside I was feeling anxious. "Well, you could always try lighting a match."

She gave me a weird look, one that plainly said, _Why the hell are _you_ being so cryptic all of a sudden?_ My simple answer was a tiny smirk, which I soon turned away from her and directed toward the bar. Melanie followed my line of vision, and I glanced back at her just in time to see realization dawn upon her face. She mouthed a very long and drawn out "oh" before quickly shaking her head and returning to her standard-grade, uninterested, "I'm-better-than-you" expression.

"Hope she brought the whole box," she muttered moodily, and strut past me down the stairs. I allowed my smirk to widen briefly before I donned a similar countenance to hers and tagged along.

We made our way down the steps and walked along the side balconies, avoiding the chaos that was the dance floor as we advanced on the bar area opposite us. Our shortcut had us pass behind the DJ, who turned and gave us a two-fingered salute from his cartoony Ursa helmet as we went by. I nodded at him politely, but Melanie gave the man an icy glare in return for the musical mishap he made earlier. Instantly, he cracked under the pressure and stared intently at his turntable with nervous, hunched shoulders. My temperamental twin raised a brow at me impatiently, to which I could only shrug. Best not to provoke her when she's in a mood like this.

Sadly, it didn't look as if that was going to be an option, as we neared the stools of the counter that the two of us and Junior often sat in front of. Our eyes weren't playing tricks on us, the girl was actually here - but that was subject to change, so we had to move quickly. She was just ordering her drink by the time we pulled up a seat on either side of her - from what we could tell, she hadn't said a word, but apparently her presence was enough to let the bartender know exactly what she wanted.

The stools squealed when the two of us spun on them, positioning our legs under the counter. Note to Junior: oil these things once in a blue moon. "Hey Sundae," Melanie greeted from the right side of our target. She was audibly trying to sound as pleasant as possible, even bringing out the little pet name she used for the girl to make herself seem more cordial. I was probably the only one who would have noticed how hard she was forcing herself, but I never knew what to expect out of "Sundae" here, so I wasn't about to let myself think that it went over her head.

A clink of glass against countertop signaled that her beverage had arrived. I looked up from the stool whose condition I had been previously lamenting. A root beer float. Of course. Well, maybe there was _one_ thing I could always expect out of her.

"They serve alcohol here, you know." And there goes my sister, being a such a positive influence again. The kids would just _love_ her. Especially the future addicts.

Despite the not-so-subtle, terribly unhelpful suggestion she had been offered, the ice cream-loving girl accepted it and nodded encouragingly. It was here where I attempted to look her in the face, and was instead met only with bouncing brown curls. Hmm, that was different. If memory served me right, she didn't usually wear her hair down. I leaned back ever so slightly and noticed a distinct lack of her signature dual-colored ponytail. Well, its absence certainly brought out the messier aspects of the pink half of her hair, so why did she decide to settle for this lapse in style?

Maybe I was overthinking this. People didn't come to a bar to look good, they came to drink their troubles away. Which is something Junior does on occasion. Sometimes you just get into one of those moods, I suppose. That probably wasn't the case with this girl, though, considering her failure to heed my sister's "advice."

"So, it's been awhile," said sister continued, leaning on the counter with her elbows. Ah, the old tactic of invading personal space to incite a response. Classic Melanie. "We haven't heard much from you lately. We were just wondering if you'd like to catch up, old buddy, old pal, old friend of ours." Man, she's trying really hard to be nice about this.

I could almost feel the smile that crept onto the thin lips of our guest as they parted and spoke in that familiar south Vytal accent. "Sugah, this friendship's a two way street." Her voice was sweet enough to cause cavities, all the more reason to send a shiver down my spine at her words. Melanie visibly stiffened as the girl turned her head slightly towards me. From this angle I could glimpse her small nose and her contrastingly large Cheshire grin, but brown locks kept her eye sinisterly hidden from view. I'm not someone easily intimidated, but I had to admit it was unsettling.

"Militiades, you've been awfully quiet," she observed, and an honest-sounding tinge of concern laced her voice. Heh, what a drama queen. "How've ya been, hon?"

"Fine," I answered simply with a mannerly dip of my head. I had no plans to remain quiet for much longer, but until I could figure out how to sequence the million and a half questions floating around in my mind, I would strategically take that route.

Meanwhile, my other, _louder _half would do the talking for me. "And just what do you mean by _that?"_ Melanie demanded, sounding a bit indignant. She was losing her cool already. Not like causing that to happen was a great achievement or anything, but from experience I knew that if my sister blew a fuse, she'd also blow our chances of getting any info out of this one.

The girl waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Why, nothin' at all," she said lightly. I thought she would go for her drink before she laid her hand down, but she chose to rest her palm on the counter in front of the glass instead. "I just thought it would be fair if ya'll did _your_ part a the catchin' up first, for once." She faced more away from me, and I could tell she was eyeing my sister with that jovial, taunting countenance of hers.

The corner of Melanie's mouth twitched ever so slightly. I could tell she wanted to snarl (maybe even bite) very badly. "I hope you're not toying with me, Neo." Uh oh. Things were getting serious when she broke out the singular pronouns.

Neo looked taken aback, straightening up overdramatically and producing a noisy gasp. "Little old me? No, I would _neva,_ honey!" She placed a hand on her bare collarbone, a dainty gesture that clearly showed she took offense (whether it was genuine was something one could never reliably discern). "And whateva happened to ya adorable little informalities? Sundae was fine by me."

Melanie rolled her eyes, now only mildly annoyed. Neo's pleasantness, feigned or not, was disarming. "What are you looking for, Sweet Tart?"

Neo let out a very girlish giggle. "That's cute," she bubbled airily, pressing her fingers to her lips to suppress the laughter. "Cute enough to convince me to letcha know what's on my mind." She propped one elbow up on the countertop while the other hand fiddled with the handle of her umbrella, which leaned up against her chair. "For one, I couldn't help but notice that the girl who broke Bossman's robot looked like she'd match the description of a certain 'Blondie' ya gals were tellin' me about."

Now it was my turn to twitch. So _she_ was the one who reduced the Paladin to a pile of wreckage? Damn, I was impressed... but somehow not all that surprised.

"Describe her, then," Melanie ordered flatly. She knew as well as I did that Neo was in fact referring to our very own Blondie; she was probably just trying to give our "friend" a hard time.

A hand went to a chin in thought. "Well, let's see what I remember, shall we?" She allowed a pause for emphasis. During this time Melanie flashed me a look that screamed murder. I could only hope that the one I offered in return was sympathetic enough to deter her for a bit longer. "Messy blonde hair, red eyes, kinda on fire, hit like a truck, wore some _very_ flirtatious clothing..."

_And we _don't? was my immediate snarky response. Tastefully, I chose to keep it to myself. You'll have to forgive me for wanting to be the voice of reason in this group. I'm only a realistic thinker after all, sometimes I just don't know any better.

"Sounds like the whore in the flesh," Melanie hissed. It occasionally became hard to tell who she was most angry at in a given situation, and that's a sad fact coming from her own twin. There was a good chance that it could've been the girl sitting beside her, Blondie, or hell, even the DJ was a fair candidate at this point.

"My, it looks like I've struck a nerve," Neo said, pity lining her words. Oh, she had no idea how much she was putting her life on the line here. "Would that be because ya'll are still holdin' a grudge for her whuppin' ya tushies and destroyin' the club?"

She said that last part sweetly, compassionately, but unnecessarily loudly, going to great lengths to make sure everyone close by could hear it. At this Melanie looked away, unable to hold eye contact as her face reddened in a mixture of embarrassment and fury. Luckily, my emotional spectrum wasn't as broad as my sister's, so I took the chance to cover for her while she was down.

"It's not wrong for us to want a little retribution," I said evenly. The brown and pink-haired head shifted toward me once again, but still not fully. Evidently she had yet to become totally accustomed to the fact that two girls who looked so similar could speak and act so differently. "Though seeing what she did to the Paladin wasn't the most comforting thing in the world. Thankfully she only seems to cause that much destruction when she's in a mood." I bit back an additional comment just as it formed on the tip of my tongue, in which I would have proudly declared that she had even worse mood swings than Melanie. Had I let it escape, a boiling volcano would have erupted all over the bar.

"What brought the sugah over here, anyhow?" Huh. An actual question for once. Not asked in a "I-already-know-the-answer-but-I'll-be-a-smartass-and-humor-you" kind of way. It was strangely refreshing.

"The first time she was apparently looking for this girl none of us had ever seen before," I recalled. "And then things just escalated." There was a tiny giggle at my bluntness. I pretended not to hear that. "But then she showed up again the night of the attack, under similar circumstances." I paused here and debated whether I should let her take the ambiguous hint. Thankfully I didn't need to worry about that.

"She was looking for _your_ boss," Melanie butt in accusatorially. "Care to fill us in on anything that would give her a reason to?"

Neo held her hands up defensively, still insistent on poking fun at us when we were clearly not in the mood. "Slow down, sugahs, no need to be so hasty." She appeared to glance between the two of us, though one had to wonder how she could even do so through all that hair. "Dontcha think Junior might not be happy if he found out his bodyguards know more about organized crime than he does?"

"Junior's not happy about a lot of things," I answered without missing a beat. I did a convincing job of sounding uninterested, but truthfully the girl was beginning to get on my nerves as well.

"And that's something we can live with," Melanie finished for me. "So? What's the scoop?" Despite her usual witty banter, she was visibly irritated. I feared this would only add fuel to the already sizable fire.

I usually end up hating it when I'm right.

Without warning, Neo threw her head back and laughed loudly. She only received two stares of confusion as she wiped a tear from her now visible but tightly shut eye. Finally, her mirth began to die down as her hair fell back over her face. "Oh, Melanie, darlin', your taste in puns is exquisite!" she said excitedly.

A good ten seconds of heavy, uncomfortable silence fell over our area of the bar. Melanie gazed at her with wide, unseeing eyes, wearing a look on her face that clearly said something in her brain had malfunctioned. I, on the other hand, struggled to comprehend what was worse - the fact that she said it or the way that she somehow managed to sneak another ice cream pun in there while doing so. One thing was for certain, however: we were fortunate that the bartender had moved over to serve some customers at the other end of the counter (a detail which I just noticed as a result of the break in the conversation), otherwise this would have gotten even more awkward than it already was.

"But really now." Neo's voice suddenly became more serious, shedding that jubilant ring it so often carried in exchange for a much darker, more sensible tone. "There's no denyin' Mistah Torchwick was involved in that incident. I practically already told you he was there."

I shook some sense into my head. Ah, that she did, back when she confirmed Blondie as the one who blew the Paladin to bits. She would have had to be there to see that, and she hardly went anywhere Torchwick did not. It was a surprise that she even showed up in this club anymore, as he hadn't since the night when he first hired the group of men. I had always wondered what her intention was for continuing to come here... but I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, either.

"O-okay..." Melanie started off stuttering, obviously struggling to recover from the previous string of terrible, off-putting jokes. Thankfully, she regrouped fairly quickly, and was able to put together the right questions. "So if I'm guessing right, you got called in at the last second to be his makeshift escape rope, huh?" Well, maybe "right" wasn't the best adjective to describe that question.

Nonetheless, the ice cream-themed girl suddenly beamed. "Yup, I'm the best escape rope in the business!" she bubbled, sounding _way_ too happy for someone who shared the same job description as an overlong piece of string. "Just give a firm tug and I'll send ya right up!"

TMI, girl. TMI.

Melanie was somehow able to look past the extremely weird and out-of-place comment for the sake of progression. "That means you were there. And that couldn't have been the only time you were around him and the robot."

Neo tilted her head quizzically. "Are you tryin' to tell me what I did a few days ago? I didn't know ya had an interest in palm readin', sugah."

My sister tried to sigh, but it came out as a rather feral growl. Nevertheless, she yielded to the passive-aggressive demands set before her. "How much do you know about Torchwick getting ahold of the Paladin?" she rephrased through gritted teeth.

"A bit."

_"What _do you know?" I clarified quickly. Melanie's cheeks were heating up again, and I was _really_ beginning to worry about my ability to keep our guest alive for as long as possible. Or at least until she told us all the important details.

"Why didntchya'll just say so? I might be able to letcha girls in on a few company secrets." Phew, nice save, Militia.

"We'll try to keep this simple, then," my sister practically hissed at her. "How did he get it and why did he want the White Fang to use it?"

"First question, first answer." Neo held up one finger to symbolize. "My boss's boss got it for my boss, 'a course. How else?" It seems that confused jumble of words confirmed one of our many suspicions - someone else _was_ pulling the strings after all.

"Torchwick doesn't seem like the type who'd be satisfied playing second fiddle, if you don't mind me saying," I commented courteously, even though courteous was actually the last thing I felt like being at the moment.

The multicolored girl inexplicably went rigid and crossed her arms over her chest. My my, I do believe I've actually offended her. Ten points to the girl in red. "Mistah Torchwick's more than clever enough to get by on his own," she spat venomously. "But he ain't stupid with his smarts. If he needs a hand to get a job done, he'll take it."

"So you're saying he's a coward for seeking refuge with this new employer." The tension that had previously been in Melanie's voice and posture significantly decreased. It was probably comforting to her that I had somehow managed to get under the usually happy-go-lucky girl's skin.

However, as quickly as Neo's demeanor had changed once, it changed again. "Nope! She actually came to him! The bossman's got quite a reputation, ya see!" "She?" I wasn't aware of any major female figures in the criminal world. But if she could buy out Torchwick's services, she must have been a very powerful figure indeed. "And that'll answer ya second question!" The criminal's henchman continued joyously. Two fingers shot up. "It was her idea to set him up with the White Fang."

Now we were definitely curious. "What could she possibly want with the White Fang?" Melanie inquired, leaning in with a raised eyebrow. I involuntarily did the same.

Neo shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't know. She said somethin' about some sort of mutual cooperation - between her, my boss, and those dirty little rats."

I scraped my claws together threateningly at her last remark. Melanie's own weapons screeched against the metal of her chair when her legs stiffened. Our source of rage was oblivious to both of these meaningful actions.

"You've talked to her yourself?" my sister inquired, trying her hardest not to lash out against the prejudiced comment.

"Can't say I have, sugah. Those were my boss's words."

"You and Torchwick seem to have a pretty healthy relationship." The implications of that were _incredibly_ suggestive, but at a time like this even Melanie was too stressed to make any playful jabs. "He's told you more than that, hasn't he?"

"Hmm, 's a matter a fact, he did." Neo clasped her hands together on the countertop, and uttered a low hum as if trying very hard to remember something. "Ah, I think it went a little bit like, 'You'll know what you need when you need to know.'"

Two faces blanked. "What?" we said simultaneously.

"'You'll know what you need when you need to know.' It's what my boss's boss always says."

It didn't sound like she was quoting some omnipotent criminal overlord. It sounded like she was directing that statement toward _us._ And_ that_ didn't make us too happy.

"Don't you think there should be a little more trust between parties if this operation is as big as you say it is?" Melanie was dangerously quiet, pure white teeth clenched viciously once again.

"Hmm, I don't know. But I see what ya'll are sayin', the big lady doesn't pass a lotta info down the chain a command..."

Melanie was clearly unsatisfied with this. She had that hell-bent look about her. "Well then don't you think there should be a little more trust between the three of 'us?'"

"Should there be?"

Melanie's fist slammed down on the counter. The force of the impact rattled the untouched root beer float and caused some of the liquid to spill out, pooling in small spots on the surface. Neo seemed oddly unperturbed that one of these puddles began forming under her pale pink cuffs.

"You're holding out on us," I explained tersely. It didn't show through my facade of calm, but I was every bit as angry as Melanie was. And if worse came to worse, I wasn't sure I'd be willing to hold my twin back anymore.

"Sugah, I would never do that. But I can't tell ya'll everythin' until I know everythin' myself. Wouldn't wanna be wrong now, would I?" For the first time she fully turned to look at me. She tossed her head so her hair was out of her face, a face with two eyes that glimmered with unsettling, impish mischief. "After all, ya can't take everythin' at face value."

Her left eye.

It was pink.

I didn't smile often, but I felt a particularly malicious one creep onto my face at this realization.

_Good, so this shouldn't hurt one bit._

With speed that dwarfed lightning, one of my clawed hands emerged from underneath the counter, poised to strike, and shot straight through Neo's head in one smooth motion.

The illusion shattered with a sound like breaking glass. Reflective cubes of several colors scattered across the bar floor, each representing a piece of the fake girl's body. _Clever of her to use her Semblance to come here,_ I mused. _I knew there was a reason for her change in appearance. As if _she'd_ ever show up in person._

I was slowly coaxed out of my thoughts when I picked up on the sound of a bladed foot tapping against a hard, sleek floor. I looked up and noticed Melanie staring directly at me down the blades on my arms, which were now mere inches from her face. Not out of fear, but rather with a countenance that looked both furious and dejected at the same time.

"You know, you could have just _told_ me her eye was pink. I would have been more than willing to do that myself."

()()()

**So after all of this has happened, the biggest question remains: whatever could have drove me to give Neo a southern accent? XD I guess it's just me having what fun with the character I can until she's actually expanded upon. Hopefully she's really voiced by Gavin, eh? :3**

**Also, there was one particular, massively overplayed reference in here that might not make a lick of sense to some of you, but if you know me and you do get it, you will laugh for days. XD Any others that I may have included were either obvious or completely unintentional.**

**I hope my first attempt at returning to fanfiction in awhile was a respectable one, and hopefully it contributes to the RWBY archive as well as these three [currently] underappreciated characters. If you thought this was worth your time, be sure to leave a review telling me what you liked and how I can improve. If you're really desperate and don't know what good literature is, you can also favorite this story and/or follow and favorite me as an author. I promise to write very few oneshots and post them next to never because I'm lazy. DX**

**Thanks for reading all the way to the end, viewers, and have a great day! :D**


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